


You Got Your Rickety Bones (I Got These Rickety Hands)

by achievement_huntresss



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys: California (Comics)
Genre: (but they're both still nonbinary), Because what is an MCR based fic without a little sexy religious guilt, Blasphemy, Canon-Typical Violence, Creampie, Established Relationship, Friendship/Love, Gift Fic, He/Him pronouns for Mads, Introspection, Medical Procedures, Mild Gore, Minor Injuries, Nonbinary Character, Other, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Secret Santa, They Bang In a Church, They/Them pronouns for Missile, unsanitary sex, vague religious guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:08:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28762311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achievement_huntresss/pseuds/achievement_huntresss
Summary: Mads doesn't think he'll ever see heaven. But what's heaven, if not the space in between Missile's arms?
Relationships: Mad Gear & Missile Kid (Danger Days), Mad Gear/Missile Kid (Danger Days)
Kudos: 1





	You Got Your Rickety Bones (I Got These Rickety Hands)

**Author's Note:**

> This was a Secret Santa gift for Static in the Danger Days discord!! They requested Mads/Missile smut with a lot of feelings and abiding by their own personal headcanons. They also gave me permission to post this here!!
> 
> Title from Mastas of Ravenkroft!!
> 
> Enjoy!!

It amazed Mad Gear sometimes, that Missile Kid stayed with his sorry ass.

The Kid was the opposite of Mads - quieter, nervous, friendlier. Hell, the whole rumor that Kid was some kind of weapon that Mads hallucinated on stage one night only came from the fact that the Kid hated the spotlight. When they'd started this whole music thing all those years ago, fresh from the wars and the shame of exile still a deeper wound than the many they'd accrued in battle, Kid forced Mads to help them push their drumset all the way to the back of the stage in order to stay out of people's line of sight. They'd always snorted a laugh and ducked out of sight when people out in the settlements or in Tommy's shop started up a conversation with Mads and ignored the Kid, but it infuriated Mads to no end. Kid was the one who pushed Mads to even start singing, to pick up their guitar with hands that had only been used for killing since they were 17 years old. 

Mad Gear felt like his hands were still stained with years of blood and bombs, and they were staining the Kid just by touching them.

To others out in the Zones who know both of them, they see Missile Kid's kindness as naivety. That kind of infuriates Mads too. Nothing about the Kid is naïve or innocent. His earliest memory of the Kid, both just barely 17 in the trenches of a war that had been waging since they were 5, was one of blood and agony. The Kid had thrown themself over Mads, shielding him from a bomb. They were selfless, their kindness fought for through blood and guts and shit and vomit. They'd always been like that, and Mads was relieved they were still talking about stars or sharing their water with Waveheads out in the Zones instead of ending up horrible and jaded like he was.

Even now, at the tail end of a firefight, Mads was thinking about how he was a poison to his partner. The duo gunned down Drac after Drac, cursing whatever was listening that Dr. D had cut out right as the traffic report was going. Maybe they wouldn't have stumbled ass first into an ambush on Route Guano. Missile Kid chucks a homemade bomb towards a white van and the two sprint for their signature gold Camaro, Mads covering their 6 while Missile jumps into the passenger seat. Missile leans out the window and begins covering fire, and Mads throws himself into the driver's seat. The engine roars to life and the two take off down the old highway, Missile whooping and blasting the two Dracs following them on bikes.

The bomb is enough to dissuade the remaining Dracs from following their comrades, although Missile seems to be having some issues getting the two on bikes. After a particularly close call on a blast heading straight for their rear tire nearly sends Missile falling out of the open window, Mads reaches over and grasps their ankle, holding on for dear life. He knows, logically, it won't do much to save the Kid, but he can't help it. Poison or not, he needs to touch - needs to know the Kid is still there, still with him, still breathing.

The Kid hoots and hollers after landing a lucky shot, sending one Drac flying into the other one, the crash of the bikes sending a wave of fire across the highway. Mads yanks on Missile's ankle and pulls them back into the car just in time. Missile looks over at Mads, absolutely beaming, and Mads can't help offering a small, rare smile back at them. 

"Nice shot," Mads says, not taking his eyes off the road. 

"Learned from the best," Missile teases and Mads actually laughs at that. Mads couldn't teach a bird to fly if he tried. He was impatient, grouchy, and Missile teased him endlessly at that. The Kid had been in the war for three months before Mads even shipped up from Australia. If anything, the Kid, with their shot of a sniper, hands of a surgeon, and eyes of a motherfucking hawk had taught _him_ the ropes back then.

Mads checks the rearview, noting that the sun was slowly sinking. "We should find cover. Send a transmission out to D and let him know what happened."

"Good plan," Missile says. Mads had moved his hand from the Kid's ankle to the steering wheel again the second their ass hit the leather seat, and now, Missile takes it from the wheel and slowly peels off the worn leather glove, pressing their chapped lips to the cracked skin.

"What're you doin'?" Mads says, managing not to jump out of his skin, although it's a close thing. 

"You injured?" Missile asks, pressing featherlight kisses to each of Mad's knuckles. 

It's gentle, too gentle for someone as fucked as Mad Gear and he pulls his hand away from Missile, ears burning. They make a disappointed noise, but don't try again. They know him too well to try again.

They end up at a cluster of old buildings in Zone 4. Spray paint covers every inch of the ruins, and a mailbox to the Witch sits in front of what seems to be an old church. Mads pulls the car around the back, hiding it from view of the road, and the two climb out. Mads is limping, and Missile places a hand on their side. Neither are badly injured, but both former soldiers know that infection will kill someone slower and more painfully than a bullet ever could. They grab their packs from the trunk, sizing up their surroundings and decide to head into the church. It's the only ruin that still has all 4 walls and a roof, although Mads isn't sure how stable the steeple on top is. They nod to the mailbox as they pass, a chill making them both shiver. Mads swears to anyone that'll listen that he's seen the Phoenix Witch, although he's fairly sure everyone chalks that up to the same hallucinations as they assume Missile Kid to be. 

The door to the church creaks when they open it but hey, it's an actual goddamn door. They walk through and take in the surroundings. The door swings shut behind them and the resounding slam feels louder than any bomb they've ever heard. Most of the pews are destroyed, Mads notes as they walk down the aisle, although one towards the front seems to still be standing, along with the altar. A candle burns up on the altar, and Missile takes his hand as they inspect the shrine to fallen Killjoys that takes up most of the pulpit.

"You ever go to church, Gear?" Missile asks quietly, as if not to disturb the ghosts. They sit on the pew, it barely creaking under their weight, and pull out their med kit out of their pack. They pat the spot next to them and Mads trudges over and sits. 

"Yeah. A few times back when... Well. Back then." Neither of them talk about their past. Mads hates talking about his childhood in Australia, and Missile sees too many ghosts to be comfortable bringing up their own childhood. They each know what the other wants them to know, and that's that. "I- I remember going to one similar to this. A small one. One room church." He swallows, busies himself with stripping off his red jacket and black t-shirt. The black paint on his neck and hands from their last show still stains his hand, making them almost look gray. Missile brushes their fingers over his dark tattoos and Mads suppresses a shiver.

"I just remember going to one for a funeral," Missile says, eyes on Mad's slim muscle. Mads feels his cheeks heating up. "It was huge. There were so many people. I don't think I knew who the person it was for, but my- my parents did." They strip off their black vest and long faded white longsleeve, showing their impressive muscles and bright tattoo sleeves. Mads pretends not to look, but can't help sneaking a peek. Missile seems to notice, because they smile a little and blush. "I only went once. We were Jewish, back then."

Mads nods. "Let me see your side, where they got you," he says, changing the subject. Missile nods and shifts, moving their leg over to straddle the pew. They take Mad's hand and pull it towards the red angry skin where a blast got a little too close to the skin. "Didn't hit?"

"Nah," they reply breezily. "Fucked up my vest though. I need to bully Cherri into giving me a new patch. The old one that was there is melted."

Mads huffs a fond laugh. He pulls burn cream out of the med kit and squirts some out onto his fingers, gently rubbing it into the irritated skin. Missile hisses at the contact.

"Sorry," Mads whispers. 

"It's 'k," Missile says through gritted teeth. They run a hand through their messy red curls, a little faded. Mads smiled to himself as he remembered how excited they'd been to match their hair to his jacket, and then immediately was offended by Party Poison crying foul over copying their look.

_'Your color is yellow!' Missile had argued._

_'But red is my brother's color! I'm matching Kobra!' Poison wailed, dramatic as ever._

_Kobra and Mad Gear just looked at each other and shook their heads._

"-Gear?" Missile was looking at him, concerned.

"Huh? Oh. Sorry." Mads pulls his hands off of them, mourning the loss of warmth. 

Missile leans close, pressing their forehead to his. Their hands grasp at his, interlocking their fingers. "Where do you go?" They whisper, voice barely above a breath.

"I-" Mads lets his eyes flutter shut. "I don't know. But I'm here. I'll always come back to you."

Missile laughs lightly, and Mads can feel it on his face. "I know. I know you will." Missile begins to pull away when Mads, in a rare move of intimacy, pulls them back.

"I love you," Mads says. Missile's eyes go a little wide and they pause. It's rare for Mads to say it first, and especially unprompted like this. Missile seems to get over their shock and they press their forehead to his again, noses brushing.

"I love you too," They say against his lips and Mads connects them, pulling them in. It's not their first kiss together, and it won't be their last, but by god does it leave Missile a little breathless and Mad's knees a little shaky. Or maybe that's the injuries from the firefight. They pull apart, and Missile shoots a gentle smile his way.

"How's the leg?" Missile says, immediately switching back to business. 

Mads shifts his weight and winces. "Tender. I think some shrapnel grazed it."

Missile nods. "Gotcha." They rummage in the med kit, looking for the wound cleaner and some bandages. "Take your pants off."

Mads can't help the indignant squawk he lets out and Missile erupts into a fit of giggles. "Not for that! Although-" they waggle their eyebrows at him and he shoves them on the shoulder, looking away to hide his fond smile.

He stands on shaky legs and unbuttons his faded black skinny jeans, pulling them down to his knees. He rucks up the leg of his boxers and runs a finger over where the shrapnel cut open the fabric and frowns. He's honestly pretty shit at sewing, his hands too shaky to thread the goddamn needle, and he's pretty sure Missile would tease him is he asked them to help. Mads sits back down on the pew in his boxers and shifts his weight, making sure the sluggishly bleeding gash isn't touching the wood. It might be sturdy, but Mads doesn't want to think about what might be on the pew after all these years.

Missile kneels in front of him, still just in their shorts and skeleton leggings, the fabric hanging low on their chiseled hips. As Missile begins eyeing up the gash on Mad's upper thigh, Mads allows himself to glance over Missile's body. He tells himself it's just to make sure the Kid's okay, and not hiding any injuries (something they long ago both swore to each other never to do, but still occasionally did if the other was more injured. Old habits died hard). It's definitely _not_ so Mads can ogle his partner's impressive biceps, flexing in the slowly growing shadows from the sunset outside as they poke around at the tender skin on Mad's thigh.

"Sorry," Missile apologizes when Mads hisses through his teeth. Usually having the Kid on their knees in front of them, shirtless and flushed, makes Mads make a whole other world of noises, much more pleasing to the ear, but Mads can't help his pained grunt slip out when the needle pokes through his sensitive skin.

"It's okay, Mads. It's okay," Missile says, pressing their forehead to his knee for a moment before pulling back up and focusing again. "Just think happy thoughts."

"Happy thoughts. Right. Like - _ah_!" Mads lets out a sharp gasp as his skin is pulled together with the thread. He forces his eyes shut and lets his head fall backwards onto the top of the pew with a _thunk_.

"Almost done," Missile lies cheerfully. Mads wants to snark at them, but when his mouth falls open, a pitiful moan is forced out.

"There ya go, Madsie. Atta boy."

"Not - _fuck_ \- a boy," Mads pants, grateful that Missile is trying to distract him. It was an old game they played, using gendered nicknames or insults for each other, and the other snarking back about it. It was dumb, but it kept them from blowing their brains out from exhaustive boredom back when the Zones weren't as hopping as they were now.

"Good job," Missile purrs, and Mads can almost hear the smile in their voice.

"Fu-UCK!" Mads moans out, eyes squeezing closed even harder. Whoops. So much for not wanting to disrupt the ghosts.

"Come on now, Mads. Be quiet for me, yeah?" The way they say it sends pure molten heat rushing south and Mads shivers.

Missile Kid hums, poking the needle through one last time. "Almost done, sweetheart. Hold on for me." Mads moans again, from pain or the term of endearment, he can't tell. The final slide of the thread pulls and Mads forces his eyes open to look down and sees Missile Kid bite the thread, cutting it with their teeth. He runs his fingers through their soft red hair and they lean into the touch, closing their eyes.

"Kid-"

"I know. Be patient, okay?" 

It scares Mads sometimes, how in sync they are. When they write songs, Missile Kid can just make a single face, and Mad Gear knows to pick up the tempo here or to change a part of the bridge there. Mads can almost feel when Missile is pinned in a firefight and be next to them in a blink. They both know how to hold the other down during night terrors, know how to help the other breathe, to open their eyes, to whisper in the other's ear until they've calmed down. Mads knows he's fucked in love with Missile Kid, and knows that he'd rather die a thousand deaths than ever be away from them.

Missile Kid finishes wrapping a length of bandages over the stitches and even presses a kiss to the faded white fabric. Mad's patience has run out and he grabs the Kid by the hair and pulls them up into a searing kiss. Missile makes a noise in the back of their throat and tilts their head, opening their mouth to deepen the kiss. Mads arranges them so that Missile is in his lap, but not putting too much pressure on his bad leg. Mads opens his own mouth and Missile, eager as ever, all but shoves their tongue into his mouth, exploring as if they'd never kissed him before.

They pull apart for breath and Kid's eyelids are hooded, staring at Mads with the intensity that a thousand nuclear bombs could never even touch. Missile leans forward and kisses down Mad's neck, causing him to gasp when they suck a hickey into the sensitive skin where his neck meets his shoulder. Mads lets his eyes close, only opening when Missile bites down on his shoulder.

" _Fuck-_ " Mads feels breathless already. His eyes flutter open and the candle on the shrine in front of them in the pulpit flickers, the only light in the dark. He remembers suddenly where they are, the significance of what a place like this used to mean. He feels a bit weird, like the ghosts in this place and a dead God are watching them fuck, voyeuristic even from beyond the grave.

As Missile Kid presses gentle kisses to the black tattoos on Mad's tan, scarred chest, Mads lets his eyes slide closed again. He doesn't care about no dead Gods or Bible-clutching ghosts. Mad Gear knows that he doesn’t deserve to enter the gates of heaven, that he’d be lucky to even be sent to purgatory and not straight down to hell after all the blood he's spilled and atrocities he's had a hand in. But the pressure of Missile's arms on his shoulders, their mouth hot on his skin, the lust oozing from their eyes everytime they pull away from him to look at him hungrily, he knows this is likely the closest he will ever get to experiencing heaven.

Mads pulls Missile off of his chest, the cool air making him hiss as it hits his saliva soaked nipple. "C'mere," he whispers, pulling them up again for another kiss - this one still just as heated, but a little gentler. Mads knows he's not the best with words, so he tries to put everything into the kiss that he can't say. Missile Kid responds beautifully, rolling their hips and moaning into Mad's mouth.

" _Fuck me_ ," Missile breathes out, Mads feeling the words on his lips when they pull away for breath. 

Mads nods, maneuvering them so Missile is on their back on the pew, Mads in between their legs. He takes a moment to run his hands hungrily over Missile's abs, smiling when the shorter Killjoy laughs, squirming to get away.

"You're beautiful," Mads whispers. Even in the candlelight, he can see them blush and look away.

"Shut up, dude."

"Don't call me dude, I'm about to be inside of you," the two of them giggle until Mads has his head on Missile's stomach, both of them breathless. 

"Seriously. You're so beautiful. I don't even... How did I get so lucky?" Mads presses a kiss to Missile's stomach.

Missile threads their fingers through Mad's short, dark hair and pulls him forward, until he's hovering over them with their faces inches apart. "After all we've been through. And you call yourself lucky?" Missile asks, no escape from their dark eyes.

"I am lucky," Mads says, pressing a kiss to Missile's lips, then another to their cheek. "I met you. I got to keep you in my life. That's pretty damn lucky, I think."

Missile groans and rolls their hips up against his, brushing their semi hard length against his own, causing both of them to moan out. "Th- That's nice and all, Gear, but can you _please_ just fuck me already?"

Mads laughs, pressing another kiss to Missile's lips before moving back to a sitting position in between the Kid's legs. "I like when you beg for me," he teases, running his hands over Missile's stomach again, brushing his thumbs just under the other's waistband.

Missile grumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ' _I'll make you beg next time_ ' before they're cut off with a groan as Mads pulls their red shorts and leggings down and off their legs. He admires the pale skin of their legs and presses a soft kiss to the inside of one of their thighs. They gasp and Mads smiles into the soft skin, before licking up their thigh until he hits home.

"Mads-" Missile pants.

Mads shushes them, moving back to reach for the lube in their med kit. "I've gotcha, Kid. I'll take care of ya."

Missile smiles up at him, pupils blown. "Y'always do."

Mads blushes, fumbling with the lube and settles back in between their legs. "Shut up," he says, without any real heat to it and Missile lets out a laugh that turns into a moan when Mads leans down and licks over their entrance.

" _Ah_ \- Mads, please. No teasing-" Missile cuts off with a moan when Mads eases one lubed finger inside them, watching their face for any sign of discomfort. When he sees none, he grins a little and begins moving his finger, slowly, then building up speed.

Missile Kid throws an arm over their eyes, their bright tattoo sleeve shining in the candlelight. They moan again when Mads eases a second finger inside, slowly pumping them in and out.

"C'mon now, Kid, none of that," Mads leans up with his free hand and pushes their arm off their eyes. They look up at him, absolutely wrecked, and Mads feels himself throb in his boxers.

"Please fuck me, Mads."

"But-"

" _Now_ ," Mads watches their Adam's apple bob in their throat as they swallow. " _Please_ ," they say, almost a whisper.

"Don't wanna hurt you-"

"You've never hurt me, Mads. Don't make me beg-" Missile cuts off with a shout, arching up when Mads crooks his fingers and finds that spot. He grins and leans down to kiss Missile's chest, right over their heart.

"Alright, alright. Sheesh," Mads pulls his fingers out and tries not to fumble with his hands as Missile watches him shuck his boxers and his jeans from his knees. He coats his own length generously, making a mental note to pick up more lube the next time they're at TCM's. Mads moves back to his original position, lining himself up and looking up at Missile who looks absolutely wrecked.

Mads moves Missile's legs to wrap around his waist and kneels on the pew, tip teasing their entrance.

"Mad Gear, _please_ -"

"I've got you, Kid. I've got you." He pushes in slowly, hearing the hitch of breath in his partner below him. Slowly, gingerly, inch-by-inch, Mads sinks into Missile's slick heat like an atom bomb. Missile keens, digging their heels into Mad's lower back, begging him to go faster, but Mads uses the last of his self-control to make sure he stays at a slow pace, not wanting to hurt his partner. Blaster injuries were treatable, but internal injuries? That'd be a hard one to explain to the Doc.

Finally, Mads bottoms out, and the two Killjoys stare at each other in the candlelight. The only sound is their shared breathing and rapid heartbeats. Mads pants, letting Missile close their eyes and adjust. He barely moves his body, instead reaching for the hand that's grasped around the back of the pew and pulling it to his lips, mirroring their actions from the car earlier. Missile takes long deep breaths, smiling slightly when they feel their partner's light kisses on the palm of their hand. Finally, after what feels like hours, Missile opens their eyes and nods to Mads.

"Okay," they say, breathing deeply, but looking a lot more relaxed. "Okay. Go."

Mads lets out a long stream of air he didn't realize he'd been holding and moves his hands to hold onto his partner's hips. He pulls back, inch by inch, trying to be gentle and grasp at the fracturing bits of self-control he has left. He's almost all the way out when he pushes back in, a little faster than he'd been going out. Missile moans and lets their head fall back, hand reaching for the back of the pew again, other hand behind their head to brace themself against the wood.

Mads pushes all the way in and out again, punching another wild moan from his partner. The next thrust is faster, and the one after is faster still, and soon Mads is fucking Missile into the wooden pew and Missile couldn't keep their mouth shut if they'd tried, letting out little _ah ah ah_ 's with each thrust. It's music to Mad's ears, and a wild part of him wishes he could record this for a song. He shakes his head and keeps thrusting, deciding to keep those delicious sounds to himself. For now.

" _Fuck_ ," Mads says, "Look at you."

Missile fights to open their eyes and looks up at Mads, who is staring down at them a little slack-jawed. Missile blushes and looks away. They always got a little embarrassed when the attention was turned on them, something Mads teased them about. They really could dish it but couldn't take it.

" _Mads_ -" Missile whimpers, feeling everything all at once. "I-"

"I know, I know, baby. I got you." Mads leans down and kisses them then, hard and unexpected. He removes one hand from the bruising grip he'd had on their hip and grips their length, stroking them in time with their thrust. Missile is almost surprised with how quickly their orgasm hits them, crying out into Mad's mouth and arching their back, covering their stomach and Mad's hand in cum.

Mads pulls back to take in the image of his partner losing themselves to pleasure. "Fucking beautiful," he whispers, stroking them through their orgasm until they're whining, writhing underneath him from overstimulation. "So fucking perfect," he says, and grips their hips again tightly, chasing his own completion. He thrusts once, twice, three times before pushing all the way in and stilling, cum painting Missile's walls. They groan underneath him at the feeling of being filled up.

The sit in the afterglow for a bit, until Mads has feeling in his legs again. He pulls out of Missile, both of them wincing at the loss. He helps them sit up, the redheaded Killjoy grumbling about the mess. Mads kisses them, deep and passionate, and Missile only breaks apart from them when they realize something isn't right.

"Did you hear that?"

Mads stills, panic flooding him. "Hear what?"

**_CRACK!_ **

The pew splits in half under them, sending both naked Joys tumbling to the floor. They sit on the floor in surprise before both of them burst out laughing. They laugh until they're both breathless, foreheads touching and arms around the other.

"We-" Missile wheezes. "-We really should get off the floor. We're gonna get something awful."

Mads snickers. "We should set up blankets."

Missile stretches, yawning exaggeratedly. "I hope you don't expect me to help after all that."

Mads swats at them. "I did all the work!"

The two giggle again. Mads, after all his grumbling, ends up being the one to stand up first and set up their blankets and sleeping bag. The candle flickers as the two clean themselves up and get dressed again - just shirts and boxers - and curl up next to each other under their bedding.

"Mads?" Missile asks, after a few minutes of comfortable silence. They're the big spoon tonight, strong, colorful arms wrapped around Mad's waist.

"Yeah, Kid?"

"I love you," Mads can hear their smile. He rolls over in their arms and faces them, peppering gentle kisses to their lips and cheeks until they're giggling.

"I love you too."


End file.
